


And everything under the stars is in your arms

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor stumbles forward without thought and grasps her arm, yanking her into him and ignoring River’s startled gasp. He pushes her sleeve back up and stares down at the dark bruise circling her wrist in the shape of fingerprints, a lump in his throat. “River,” he says softly, and feels her tense. “Who did this?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And everything under the stars is in your arms

**Author's Note:**

> This didn’t turn out quite how I expected it to when I started it, but hopefully it still works. Story title from Breathe In, Breathe Out by Mat Kearney.

River is wearing shorts. And not just any shorts, oh no. These shorts are faded, tight, _indescribably small_ denim cutoffs that hug the curve of her bum in such a way to leave his mouth dry and his tongue hanging out as he blushes furiously and follows after her with wide, round eyes. Her feet are bare and her shirt – which looks suspiciously like one of his – is missing the top three buttons, leaving him with a tantalizing peek of her cleavage every time she moves. The Doctor has no choice but to stare unrepentantly.

 

Normally, he’d be quite happy about this choice but with River’s parents on board and watching him like a hawk, it makes for a very tense atmosphere. Amy keeps smirking at him, Rory won’t stop frowning and the Doctor blushes, averts his eyes from River, and finds his gaze drawn back once more against his will only seconds later. It’s a vicious, sexy, mortifying cycle. He tugs at his bowtie and clears his throat.

 

When he’d asked the TARDIS just minutes ago to take him to River, he had expected an older River and Pondly adventures but the moment the Old Girl had landed in a Luna University dormitory, he’d known nothing but trouble could lie ahead. An older River would have flirted but kept her distance, an older River would have been wearing clothes – real clothes, with shirt buttons in the right places and possibly trousers as well. Not that it would have stopped him from staring but at least he could have made an _effort_. River this young, however, is absolutely shameless and without mercy. _La belle Dame sans Merci_ , he thinks fondly.

 

She trails around the console, oblivious to her scowling father, her very amused mother, and her flailing, blushing husband. Well, he isn’t her husband yet, but the Doctor finds it difficult to think of himself as anything other than hers, even this young. She just doesn’t know it yet. She strokes her fingers over the controls in silent greeting to the TARDIS, huffing a wayward curl out of her eyes. Most of her hair is piled messily atop her head – they’d caught her in the middle of studying – but even in her state of dishabille, the Doctor is enthralled.

 

“So, where are we going?” She glances up, her bright eyes finding the Doctor across the room and catching him openly staring at her. He’s quite used to being caught looking besotted with his wife but it’s new to River, if the flush to her cheeks is any indication.

 

He tugs at his bowtie again and steps around Smirking and Scowling Ponds, leaping up to the console to join River. “Wherever you like, dear,” he promises, and taps her on the nose. “You don’t mind driving, do you?”

 

She brightens like he’d just given her the moon and he beams back at her, thrilled as always to be able to dote on her when she’s young. It’s been a favorite pastime of his since Berlin, finding a River who isn’t his wife yet and spoiling her senseless with gifts and notes, deliberate touches and affectionate kisses. “I think I can manage,” she says, and leans over him to flip a lever, so close he can smell his own scent clinging to his shirt, the smell of old parchment and pencil shavings in her curls, the electric scent of the vortex that always clings to her skin and tingles at her lips when he kisses her. He inhales deeply, letting his hand rest briefly on the small of her back before she begins to pull away once more.

 

Rory’s scowl reaches levels of epic proportion and the Doctor hastily withdraws his hand, clearing his throat again. “So,” he says, hooking his thumbs into his braces. “Anywhere in particular in mind, future Doctor Song?”

 

River grins, absolutely giddy as she leans her hip against the console and crosses her arms. “So I _do_ pass my exams. Thank you, sweetie.”

 

He winks at her. “As if you didn’t know already, clever girl.”

 

She preens a little, mouth twisting the way it always does when she’s feeling particularly smug. “My thesis _is_ rather brilliant.”

 

“Of course it is,” he says, puffing out his chest. “It’s about me.”

 

“Oh, stop it.”

 

“Make me.”

 

“Maybe I will,” she purrs, swaying toward him with a smirk, and the Doctor’s hearts stutter in his chest.

 

“Oi.” Amy no longer looks quite so amused, her nose wrinkled as she watches them from Rory’s lap on the jump seat. “Parents on board, remember?”

 

River doesn’t move but the Doctor leaps back, hearts still beating erratically. “Right,” he exclaims a little louder than necessary. “Sorry, Ponds.”

 

Rory mumbles under his breath and Amy nudges him.

 

“I’m not,” River eyes her parents pointedly. “Do you have any idea the things I’ve had to witness over the years? There are some things a girl does not need to know about her parents.”

 

Too busy looking mortified, Rory only gapes at her but Amy flushes and snaps, “It’s not like we knew! You are being deliberately shameless, young lady.”

 

“Consider it payback, Mother.” River grins at her and Amy huffs. “Now, shall we go dancing, sweetie?”

 

The possibility of swinging River around the dance floor and away from the watchful eyes of her parents sounds almost too good to be true - he hasn’t even gotten a proper hello snog yet – and he finds himself nodding eagerly. “Coronation ball?”

 

“Liz XIII?” River asks, blinking innocently at them, though they’re both perfectly aware that this particular ball had been wilder than any other in the long history of ruling Lizs’. Perhaps they’d been the reason why, come to think of it. Only one way to find out.

 

Resisting the urge to reach out and touch that curl that just won’t stay out of her eyes, the Doctor grins softly at his wife and says, “Sounds perfect, honey.”

 

With a bright smile, River turns to pilot them there and the Doctor watches her in silence, not offering any of his usual helpful suggestions she usually ignores anyway. For once, he’s too busy just observing her to worry about whether or not she’ll leave the brakes off. He watches her stretch up on her toes to reach a button at the top of the console, the muscles in her legs flexing and those tiny little shorts showing off so much smooth, tanned skin… he swallows back a whimper.

 

She drops back to her feet again and reaches up to adjust the monitor above her head, the sleeve of her shirt revealing her slim wrist to the soft glow of the control room. Breath caught in his throat, the Doctor stumbles forward without thought and grasps her arm, yanking her into him and ignoring River’s startled gasp. He pushes her sleeve back up and stares down at the dark bruise circling her wrist in the shape of fingerprints, a lump in his throat. “River,” he says softly, and feels her tense. “Who did this?”

 

Amy leaps from Rory’s lap in an instant, rounding the console with a worried frown. Behind her, Rory settles on the edge of the jump seat, fists clenched at his sides, as if already preparing himself to defend his little girl from whatever or whoever had touched her. The Doctor knows the feeling.

 

“Who did what?”

 

River yanks her arm from the Doctor’s grasp and quickly pulls her sleeve back down to hide the bruises on her wrist, smiling lightly at her mother. “It’s nothing. Got into a bit of a scuffle with a Sontaran at a space bar with a few friends.” She winks at Amy. “You know I can’t resist a good pub brawl, Mother.”

 

Sighing, Amy shakes her head. “Melody Pond, what have I told you about getting into fist fights?”

 

“I didn’t start it, Mother!” River insists, eyes widening in innocence as she pointedly ignores the Doctor’s gaze. “I only finished it.”

 

On the jump seat, Rory visibly relaxes, watching his daughter with a small, proud smile, but the Doctor remains tense with skepticism. “Well,” he says shortly, and feels River flinch. “Now that’s settled, off you pop, Ponds. Dress for a party.”

 

Amy squeezes River’s arm briefly, offering her a grin. “Alright, but make sure all clothes are back on by the time we get back. We don’t need to see that, yeah?”

 

Rory chokes, looking mournful. “ _Amy_.”

 

“What? Like you don’t know what they’re going to do the minute we leave? I’m surprised they’ve waited this long.” She grabs her husband’s hand and drags him off with her, and the Doctor watches fondly as they disappear down the corridor and out of sight.

 

He turns back to River instantly, eyes narrowed, and finds her fiddling uselessly with the console and avoiding direct eye contact. “I should change too, I imagine. Though I know you’re enjoying the view, sweetie.” She tries a smirk but it falls flat in the ensuing silence and she sighs.

 

“River -”

 

“It’s nothing,” she says again. “I’m fine.”

 

“Your wrist says otherwise,” he snaps. “What happened? And I know it must be bad because you’re hiding it from me. River, someone hurt you and if you don’t tell me who -”

 

She snorts softly. “The only one who can really hurt me is you, my love.”

 

He flinches but River glances up with soft eyes and all the breath squeezes painfully from his lungs as he stares at her. “Me?” He asks, voice choked and trembling. “River, I did that to you?”

 

“No,” she says quickly, eyes wide as she steps forward. At his side in an instant, she takes his hands in hers and looks up at him with a warm smile. “You would never, sweetie.” Her eyes flicker and she glances away with pursed lips. “At least not this you.”

 

He inhales sharply, face ashen. “No.”

 

“It turns out not every version of you is quite so happy to see me as this one.” She shrugs as if it doesn’t matter and he can barely hear her over the screaming in his own head. Not River, never River. “He didn’t take kindly to a strange woman in his beloved ship.” She sighs, reaching up a hand to stroke his cheek softly. “You were so angry, my love.”

 

Horrified, he recoils from her touch. “Tell me you didn’t, River. Not him.” He clenches his teeth and breaks away from her to pace angrily. “How could you be so careless?”

 

“It wasn’t carelessness! I had to.” She drops her arms to her sides and looks at him imploringly. “For my thesis.”

 

“I could have told you anything you liked,” he snaps. “You needn’t have gone behind my back to visit younger, _stupid_ versions of myself!”

 

“You wouldn’t have told me everything!” River leans against the console, arms crossed defensively and looking so terribly young despite her stubbornness. The Doctor thinks of this vulnerable version of his wife facing his angriest incarnation, of the finger-shaped bruises around her wrist, and feels like he might be ill. “There are some things I don’t expect you to talk about. Not when I have the means to find out on my own.”

 

He slams a fist against the console and shuts his eyes when she jumps.

 

“Doctor,” she begins softly, and lays a gentle hand on his arm. “I knew what I was doing. I used the lipstick you gave me for my birthday. He – you don’t even remember it.”

 

Opening his eyes, the Doctor slumps against the console and shakes his head. “I’m not worried about timelines, River. That version of me… he’s damaged. The Time War, it traumatized him. He was angry and bitter, and it was a very long time before he was fit company for anybody, least of all my -” He stops before the word _wife_ can leave his lips. Spoilers. “Least of all you.”

 

“I’m fine, sweetie.” River smiles reassuringly up at him, her eyes soft. “Honestly. I can handle myself.”

 

“I know you can.” He frowns seriously down at her, hands settling on her hips and gripping tightly. “But you have to promise me, River. Promise me you won’t seek him out again.”

 

“But I -”

 

“River.”

 

She huffs. “Fine. I promise.”

 

“Good.” He breathes out quietly, resting his forehead against hers and trying to gather himself. The thought of her being handled roughly by his ninth self is a painful one he struggles to push aside. For once, he’s glad of her bloody lipstick if it meant she’d been able to get away from his younger self when she needed to – He raises his head suddenly, eyes widening. “Hang on. You used the lipstick?”

 

River nods, watching him oddly. “It was the only weapon I had on me.”

 

“Right.” He licks his lips; mind suddenly filled with all sorts of unpleasant thoughts. River kissing his younger self, River doing a bit _more_ than kissing his younger self… “River…” He pauses, hesitant and wondering if she’ll slap him for asking, but knowing he’ll die of curiosity if he doesn’t find out. “Did you, I mean, have you, that is to say, did you and he -”

 

Raising an eyebrow, River asks, “You want to know if I shagged him?” The Doctor feels himself blush bright red all the way down to his toes but he squares his jaw stubbornly and nods once. Softening, River shakes her head and he sags against her in relief, banishing those unpleasant thoughts once and for all. “Not that it would have been cheating, mind.”

 

“No, of course not.” He noses at her hair tenderly, lips brushing her temple. “But River, he’s – he’s too broken. He could never treat you -” He swallows, pulling back to look her in the eye, and she looks back at him breathlessly, little hands curling into his jacket. “I don’t ever want to touch you without the reverence and – and _love_ that you deserve. Do you understand?”

 

River stares at him wordlessly for a long moment, her lips parted in surprise, and he wonders if she’s ever heard him say it before now. “I understand, my love,” she finally whispers, her eyes wide and full of echoing tenderness.

 

He smiles, drawing her near once more and taking her wrist. Bending his head, he brushes his lips softly over the bruises there, looking up at her through his fringe. His mouth touches the inside of her wrist and he watches her eyes flutter, wishing he could fix all the things about her life he has ruined with just a simple kiss. “How’s that?”

 

Curling the fingers of her free hand into his hair, River lifts his face to hers with a grin and murmurs, “Much better, sweetie.”

 

-

 

It’s the same wrist.

 

In all the chaos and ensuing loss of their horrible day, he hadn’t realized until now. As soon as he’d read Amy’s note, he’d gone back to the TARDIS and found little Amelia. He’d told her a bedtime story and tucked her in, said one last goodbye to his Pond and walked away. Unsure of where to find River, he’d just headed straight for their bedroom, hoping she would come to him when she’d had time to grieve in private. River, with all her pride and her need to be strong for him, would never let him see her so weak.

 

Which is why it had been so surprising to find her curled up in their bed still in that black dress and high heels, the tears on her cheeks telling him she’d cried herself to sleep. Hearts in his throat, he settles on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands until the moment River shifts in her sleep, her arm stretching out across the bed, as if to reach for him. Even after everything that happened today, after what he did, she still reaches for him in her sleep. The Doctor turns his head and studies her pale, slim wrist with tears in his eyes. It looks perfectly normal, healed and unblemished once more, but it’s the second time he’s damaged her wrist, even if he doesn’t remember doing it the first time.

 

_You would never, sweetie._

 

She’d said it with so much faith and trust. Faith and trust in _him_. River believed in him, believed he would never hurt her the way his younger self had, believed that in his arms she would never be anything but cherished and adored. The Doctor closes his eyes, feeling sick to his stomach. Today, he had proven her wrong. Today, he had failed her.

 

Crumpling under the weight of the realization, he turns and lifts his feet, curling up beside his wife but not daring to reach out and touch her just yet. She breathes deeply in her sleep, her brow furrowed and her nose still red as she sniffles in slumber. His River, so full of love and trust he doesn’t deserve and hasn’t done a damn thing to earn. Some days it feels like all he does is show her exactly why she should never have married him but run as far and as fast as she could from him and his blue box.

 

“Always hurting you, aren’t I, dear?” He asks softly, and picks up her hand, cradling it between his own. He nuzzles his cheek into her palm and shuts his eyes, whispering endearments and apologies under his breath until he feels her fingers curl against his face. He lifts his head quickly and watches her eyes flutter open. She doesn’t speak, watching him quietly with red-rimmed eyes, but she doesn’t pull her hand away either and the Doctor is silently grateful for that small mercy. “I’m sorry.”

 

“That’s all I wanted,” she says softly, her voice hoarse. “Not your lives, sweetie.”

 

He flexes his jaw stubbornly. “Mine to give now, Song.”

 

“Not to me.”

 

“You are the only one I could ever give my lives to, River.” He traces his fingertips over her knuckles, wondering at the power in hands so small. “And my hearts.”

 

Her eyes water at his quietly spoken words and she blinks quickly, as if terrified he’ll see her weakness and judge her for it.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, and it is an apology for so much more than today. It’s for every day he has let her down, every moment he gave her the impression he didn’t want her tears but only her strength. “River -”

 

She doesn’t let him finish, scooting across the bed and right into his arms, snuggling into his chest just as she usually might. The Doctor is so relieved at the show of trust that he can’t speak, burying his face in the curls piled at the top of her head. She presses her lips to his sternum and replies quietly, “Forgiven. Always and completely.”

 

He kisses her hair, brushes his mouth along her temple, her cheek, the corner of her lips and down the side of her neck. River giggles softly as he moves to her shoulder, leaving a trail of quick but tender kisses down her arm until he reaches her wrist. He glances up briefly and finds her watching him, eyes soft and smiling. “My River,” he whispers, and presses his lips to the inside of her wrist, right against her pulse point. “How’s that?”

 

She brightens, her whole face lighting up as she wraps her fingers around his own and brings her mouth down to his, brushing his lips lightly with her own. “Much better, sweetie.”

 

-

 

After he drops Clara off at home once more, he retreats to his bedroom, emotionally drained from saying goodbye to his wife for the third time – first the Library, then Darillium and now Trenzalore. His hearts are shattered and he wants only to curl up in his empty bed and imagine he can still feel her lips against his. As a rule, he does not look back, but it’s his own rule and tonight he is going to break it. Tomorrow, he will shove away the memory of River in order to get out of bed, but for now, he wants to hold it close to him and cherish it.

 

He opens the door to his bedroom and finds not the room he’d insisted on having after River left, the new one with absolutely no memories to associate with his dead wife, but instead the bedroom he’d shared with her for centuries. His hearts clench at the familiar sight, painful memories washing over him instantly as he takes in the big, luxurious bed, River’s clothes still strewn about the room, her papers cluttering every available surface. The lights are turned down low and perched on the heavy desk meant for study but more often than not used for far more nefarious purposes is his River.

 

His breath catches in his throat and he freezes, staring at her with wide, uncomprehending eyes. “River? What -” He stops, swallowing, and glances away to push back the tears. “Where are we then?”

 

River watches him with a fond, heartbroken smile. “It’s alright, my love. I’m not younger me.”

 

He risks a glance at her, hope rising in his chest like a winged thing. “You mean -”

 

Of course. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t noticed the moment he laid eyes on her. She’s wearing the same clothes; the same haunted look in her eyes.

 

Her smile turns dimpled, almost mischievous. “Hello.”

 

He crosses the distance between them in seconds, crowding her space and standing in between her legs at her desk, taking her face in his hands and kissing her hungrily. River lets out a surprised squeak, and then giggles against his mouth, her arms wrapping around his neck and keeping him close. It’s _her_. The River he thought was gone forever, that has been haunting him for so long she has become as much a part of him as the TARDIS. And if she’s here now, it means she always can be, and his hearts thrill at the mere thought. River with him, always.

 

She has to be. He could not withstand her loss again.

 

“You’re here,” he breathes when they finally part, his voice wobbling dangerously. “I thought you -”

           

River shakes her head, kissing his chin and along his jaw with a happily murmured, “Ah, but you didn’t think at all, did you, my love? You were too emotional to pay a bit of attention to what I was trying to tell you.”

 

He scowls, arms tightening around her impossibly. “You were leaving me again. Of course I was emotional. You do that far too often, you know. A wife can only leave her husband so many times before he starts to feel a bit put out by it.”

 

River ignores him, mouthing at his earlobe now, and his eyes flutter shut. “The link with Clara was severed, but the Old Girl made her own connection. I can project myself from the Library into the TARDIS whenever I like.” She pulls her head back to look at him, both of them grinning radiantly at each other. “And about ten miles outside of the TARDIS as well, though I’m sure we can work on that.”

 

He giggles brightly, cupping her face in his hands again and kissing her, over and over until they’re both breathless and clinging to each other. “To be perfectly honest, Professor,” he rumbles. “I don’t care if you can’t ever leave this bedroom.”

 

“Perverted old man,” she laughs fondly, reaching up to stroke his cheek with her fingers.

 

He turns his head and kisses her palm, but as he does, he remembers being in his tomb, listening to her shout at him and knowing any moment he would crack and look at her. It had been killing him not to turn his head and just drink in the sight of her, at least one last time before he stepped into his own timestream and essentially destroyed himself. And then she’d reached out, intent on slapping some sense into him as she always did when she was alive. He remembers grabbing her wrist tightly to stop her, remembers her soft gasp.

 

He pulls away, taking her hand in his and examining her wrist. It’s the same one – the same wrist he’d bruised as his ninth self and the one she’d broken in his name. He swallows hard, wet eyes darting up to find River watching him with quiet understanding. He brushes his thumb softly over the smooth skin and delicate bone, whispering, “Did it hurt?”

 

She shakes her head. “It was nice just to feel something.”

 

Tears fill his eyes and he presses his lips reverently to her wrist, whispering his love against her pulse point. River draws his head up to hers gently, kissing him with the same silent, steadfast devotion she always does when he comes to her with contrition in his eyes.

 

“It’s alright, my love. I’m here.” Her voice cracks and he squeezes his eyes shut. “I’ll always be here.”

 

“You’d better,” he breathes, and clings to her like a frightened child. She slides her hands up and down his back, humming a soft, broken melody against his ear until he relaxes against her, his grip on her loosening and his breath soft and even against her throat. He slides his fingers over the jacket she wears, feeling sleepy and content in the circle of her arms. He frowns into her shoulder, mumbling, “River?”

 

Her fingers card soothingly through his hair. “Hmm?”

 

“What are you wearing?”

 

She snorts. “What? You don’t think it’s ethereal? I decided if I was going to be a ghost, I might as well dress like one.”

 

He wrinkles his nose, then nuzzles it against her cheek. “You don’t look like you.”

 

“I wasn’t me,” she whispers. “Not for a very long time. Not in there.”

 

Clutching her head to his chest, the Doctor pushes back the tears and breathes out shakily. “River, I’m -”

 

“Don’t apologize.”

 

“I wasn’t going to,” he lies with a sniff. “I was actually going to offer some fashion advice.”

 

“You?” She arches an eyebrow, mirth dancing in her green eyes. “This should be interesting.”

 

He adjusts his bowtie with a wounded look and softens instantly when she bats his hand away to stroke the silky fabric with fondness. And she _should_ be fond, he thinks. It’s practically her wedding ring. “Now, just off the top of my head, I’m recalling these rather lovely denim shorts. You know, the really tiny ones that did spectacular things to your -”

 

River pinches him.

 

The Doctor grunts into her neck, arms wrapping around her waist and a giddy lightness in his chest even as he grumbles, “Blimey, just a suggestion.”


End file.
